Two Princes
by RK9
Summary: Detailed summary in first chapter. An AU 4th age fic. A woman arrives in Gondor with a boy she claims to be Aragorn's son. How will this affect Eldarion's position as Aragorn's heir? No romance, except maybe between Aragorn/Arwen, but mild. Chap 4 up.
1. Author's note: must read, please

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Lord of the Rings in any way shape or form. However, my OCs are solely MINE. You no touch-ee.

**Summary:** A woman shows up in Gondor with a child that she claims is the son of King Elessar, his firstborn and thus the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor. How will Aragorn and Arwen handle this problem, especially when the woman says she has proof of her claims, which endangers Eldarion's position as Aragorn's heir? And who is the other boy that she brought with her? Will Aragorn and Arwen's relationship survive this? Will Gondor survive? The only way out would be to unveil the truth, which is, as they say, _out there_…. This will be better than it sounds, I'm just a lousy summarizer.

**Author's notes, or STUFF YOU NEED TO READ IN ORDER TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY: **This story is most definitely AU. As with Wolfheart, I've had a draft of this in my notebook from a few years ago, but I never got around to typing it out because back then, I was immature, and more focused on CSI/Mutant X fics. I'd hope my writing style has matured somewhat, lol. So, um, forgive me if the first few chapters aren't quite up to par… These were written a few years back, when I was younger, and I couldn't change them much without rewriting everything…something I couldn't really do. I have no beta for this fic, so please forgive any mistakes. I'm slowly typing out what I have, and later I will continue where I left off years ago.

For this fic, the timeline still follows canon, which means if you haven't read the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen at the back of the third book (or online), do so. Aragorn still got his first glimpse of Arwen when he was 20, and Elrond confronts him and says they can never be because she's Elf-kind and he's mortal, and so on (it's in the tale, go search for it and read it). Then Aragorn leaves Rivendell and disappears into the Wild for twenty-nine years, and then he is admitted to Loríen and Arwen and he get engaged. Yup, that's all good. But then, for this fic, I say that Elrond confronts Aragorn again about two and a half years before the Fellowship began their Quest, saying that only a King of Men will be good enough for his daughter, and he won't allow Arwen to marry him otherwise, and then we follow movie-verse Aragorn who does not want his heritage or to be king, and so he falls into despair and leaves Rivendell for a while, only to return with renewed hope. As to where he was and what he did while he was gone, that's explained below. Then we follow canon again from the Fellowship of the Ring until The Return of the King, and then the fic begins after he and Arwen have been married for nine years, and my take is that Eldarion was born after they had been married about three years, so he's six in this story, and has a younger sister.

Now, inspiration for this fic came from a line in the appendices which mentioned the Law of Númenor, which originally stated that only sons could inherit the Sceptre and the rule of the isle of Númenor. However, the sixth King had only a daughter, and so according to this law he should have been succeeded by his nephew. Instead, he changed the law and made it so that females could also inherit the Sceptre, and because of this there were three Ruling Queens of the Isle. So I'm taking it a step further, and saying that the throne has to go to the firstborn of the King, no matter male of female. Yeah. So, don't hate me, I did say this would be AU, if that's not your cup of tea please don't spoil the pot for others who might enjoy it…

Now, before the flames start, let me assure one and all that (spoiler ahead) I am very much **a fan of Eldarion being Aragorn's heir and future King of Gondor, and I am not writing this to put one of my OCs on the throne instead of him.** Neither of my OCs will end up as Gondor's future King, I promise. So please, no flames or hate mail. But if you would, please let me know what you think. I appreciate constructive criticism and reviews that let me know your thoughts on this fic, though I know it hasn't really started off. And for those waiting for Wolflight - FairOphelia is betaing the next few chapters, and she assures me that chapter 2 is almost done, so be patient please. :) Do give me a chance, it's my first attempt at a Fourth Age fanfiction, and it will get better - I have lots of bunnies for this one.

Go to the next page for the prologue and the first chapter. I put the notes in a chapter all their own because I thought this might be the best way to make sure people read it, and then there should be less hate mail and flames. But after you read, please do drop a review. :)

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RK9.


	2. Prologue: The Arrival

**Prologue**

_(Flashback)_

_His injuries hurt. Something soft and damp was being run over his wounds, and a groan escaped before he could stop it._

"_Don't move." _

_His healer's voice was soft-spoken, gentle yet strong, delicate and clear. Like Arwen's? No, not like Arwen's… Beautiful Arwen, whose destiny lay not with him, but with her people in Valinor. Slipping down into despair, he felt that he had lost all hope. _

_His healer's name was Kitta, he remembered that vaguely. She'd told him her name when she'd found him after the battle with the band of orcs. He'd been fighting like a demon, himself against many, trying to forget… Elrond wanted Arwen to leave Middle-Earth. He would have none for his daughter but a King of Men. And Aragorn could not see a future in which he attained such a position, for he did not want to be Isildur's heir. He did not want his heritage. He didn't want to be the last of his bloodline. _

_His foolhardiness had led to this. He'd been injured far worse than ever before, and now here he was, in Kitta's home, being taken care of. She was the village healer, and pretty by human standards, with light brown hair and laughing green eyes. Coupled with her gentle personality and grace, she was like the human version of Arwen, and her village loved her. He'd been here a while, he'd seen it in how they treated her and talked to her. _

_He even understood why. _

_Too bad his heart belonged to the Evening… _

_Like a wolf could not be of two packs, neither could he cleave himself to two women. But for now, the temptation was there, lingering in the back of his mind... It would always be there, and Aragorn did not know whether to give into it...or not. _

_Would it be so wrong? He couldn't have the Elves' Evenstar… Would anyone truly blame him for trying to forget it all…?_

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**Chapter 1**

(Present day)

The city of Gondor looked as splendid as it always had, white stone touched with faded flame from the light of the setting sun. Soon it would be dark; night would cover the land for a while as the sun rested in the west. But for now, the city was beautiful, resplendent beneath the veil of twilight.

This was the land he loved, where his ancestors had sat for long years as Kings, where he now ruled, and where his son would one day rule as well.

Seated on his bed, King Elessar cast a fond look towards his young son, who had fallen asleep clutching a carved wooden horse to his chest, his favorite toy that had been a gift from his Uncle Éomer of Rohan. Eldarion had been fussing all day, until Aragorn had brought him in to play on _Ada's_ and _Naneth's_ bed while his mother settled his younger sister's dinner routine.

It had been a good nine years, reflected the King, even as he rose carefully to gather the sleeping child in his arms. The boy had light brown hair and blue-green eyes, and a sturdy frame that he'd inherited from Aragorn himself. His personality, as seen through the six years of his life thus far, was a unique blend between Aragorn's stubborn determination and Arwen's gentle strength, and Aragorn had little doubt that he would one day make a great King. In the future, of course, for right now was no time to be forcing Kingly duties on him, not when they wanted to enjoy him as he was.

Eldarion's own room was not far from their royal suite, and he currently shared it with Elbrían, his younger sister, as he dared not sleep alone. It was furnished with all the things a child his age enjoyed, and had a window that faced the city gates. It was from this window, having tucked Eldarion in, that Aragorn first saw the beginnings of trouble.

A lone figure that was distinctly feminine in shape, walking towards the city, trudging through the snow – the first that had fallen since he had become King - in a warm winter cloak, with two smaller figures traipsing along behind her. A chill of foreboding traveled down his spine, prompting him to take a second look. The travelers bore no banner, nor any distinctive clues as to where they came from, and led only a shaggy chestnut pony on a short rein, with a few packs tied to its skinny back and sides. There was _something_ about them… Elessar shook his head. No. They were just travelers seeking shelter in the city, in all likelihood. He was making a mountain out of a molehill. Taking a last look at his sleeping son, he turned. Dinner would be served soon in their private rooms, and Arwen would be waiting for him to join her there.

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Meanwhile, the trio in question was making their laborious way through the knee-deep snow. In front, the woman found it little trouble for her long legs, but the boys behind her were having some trouble – or at least, the smaller of the two was. Also, the two had no cloaks or wraps, and so the chilly air was slowing them down. The smaller boy nearly floundered into a snowdrift, and his pale skin was turning slightly blue. The bigger one, who was sturdily-built and had dark brown hair, pulled him out without a word, then tried to push aside the snow for his friend to make the going easier.

"Why can't we ride on Trouble?" he asked at last, looking with rather accusing eyes at the woman in front.

"Because I said so," she answered, turning an ice-cold silver gaze on him. "Now shut up and walk, Tavi. Iori, don't be such a little weakling. Hurry up. I want to get to the city before sunset. Chin up, and quick march like a man."

Flushing, the smaller boy pushed his brown hair – a shade lighter than Tavi's - out of his eyes with his hand, and stumbled valiantly forward.

"He's tired," Tavi said, chin tilted up, his gray eyes fierce and protective. "He's never traveled this far before. He's not used to it. Can't he ride on Trouble?"

The woman sent back a dark glower, one that silenced Tavi from making further complaints. She looked contemptuously down at Iori, who ducked his head, gray eyes fearful in his young face. The woman's mouth twisted derisively.

"Fine. Let the little sluggard ride, if that's what he wants. He certainly looks about to faint in the snow. Pathetic, Iori. I expected better of you." She turned back to her path, now ignoring the boys completely. For all her beauty, there was a darker aura about her that gave no comfort to her tired charges, an icy indifference and contempt for those whom she viewed as weak and unimportant. Iori swallowed and ducked his head lower at her comments, but he accepted Tavi's helping hand to climb onto the pony's back. As he made himself comfortable, the reason for his slow progress and weariness became clear, for Tavi had to help him slide his left foot into the stirrups, gently handling the limb where a bandage was wrapped snugly around his ankle.

"Thanks," whispered Iori, and the bigger boy nodded.

"It'll be easier for you now," he said softly. "And when we get to the city, we'll find a room or something, and you can rest, maybe even soak your leg in warm water if we can, to help with the swelling." He scowled suddenly, head jerking towards the one in front. "If _she'll_ let us."

Iori nodded, too tired to speak, and he hung on grimly as Tavi led the pony onwards, making it trot a little in order to catch up.

"Wait, Vanira!" he called, but the woman did not turn, walking on, purposefully deaf to his voice. The boy's face darkened with anger, but he said no more. Iori made a soft sound in his throat – not of anger, but of fear. Vanira inspired those feelings in him, and Tavi could do nothing about it, for Iori lived inside his head more than most children his age, and mere words would not change him. It was because he'd been alone most of his life, and so he was what people described as a thinker. Tavi had been his only true friend until recently, and then…

Tavi sighed as he thought of what had happened in their village. Ever since Inga, their healer and leader, had died and Vanira had assumed her post... nothing had been the same. Things had changed so quickly that they'd been powerless to stop the danger as it came, overwhelming them and all in its path in a blood-red wave. The boy's fists clenched around the lead-rope. He was only ten summers old, like Iori. A mere child. It was the worst thing in the world, to want to help the people and home that you loved, but to be completely powerless to do so. It paralyzed him, yet made him furious at the same time.

"Tavi!" Iori's excited whisper broke into his thoughts, like an arrow piercing into the depths of a calm pool. The brown-haired boy looked up. Iori's gaze was fixed on the city, wide with wonder.

"It's a castle out of the old stories," he whispered reverently. "A real castle, Tavi. Do you think we'll get to see what it's like inside?"

Forcing a smile, the bigger boy shrugged. "You never know. We may yet, Ior. We may yet."

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She led their party to the old Guesthouse in the first circle of the city and settled the boys down in a room there. It was a large old building of weathered gray stone, set back from the street a little, with many windows and a porch with pillars. A flight of steps led down from the porch to a green lawn in front of the house, and two wings stretched out towards the street on either side of the lawn. Their room was a cozy little place in the Western wing, where the cheaper lodgings were, but it mattered little to Vanira, who hoped to spend little if any time in the room. She knew that Iori was more than ready for dinner and bed, and Tavi would stay with Iori – the little leech needed Tavi, for alone he had little courage, little strength. One thing her sister had not taught the boy was independence – true, few women thought their children needed independence at so early a stage, but Iori was a little odder than most boys his age. That fool of a sister of hers… she'd insisted he was sensitive and needed special care. Vanira's lip curled scornfully. An excuse to spoil him rotten, of course. "Sensitive"? Please. She knew what the boy _really _needed….but if she wanted her plan to bear the fruit she wanted, she couldn't give it to him, more was the pity.

No matter. He feared her, and that was almost as good. He feared what she could do. Her lip curled, revealing near perfect white teeth in a sinister smile. Iori would be the pawn on her chessboard, and she would use him to take down the King.

Slipping through the streets, finding her way from one level to another, she looked at everything around her not with the eye of a woman who had never before left her little village, but with the calculating eye of a prospective buyer. She wasn't one to count her chickens before they'd hatched, no, but she saw no harm in making plans for what she would do with this city once it was hers. And hers it would be, she would make certain of it. One way or another, Gondor would fall.

Ah. There it was. She paused thoughtfully by the entrance of a shop that was closing up for the night, drawing her hood up as she stared at the entrance to the level of the King's residence, the beautiful palace-like place that Iori had been admiring so much earlier. Made of white stone in some sort of Dwarven style, the stairs leading up were strong and sturdy, beautiful yet made to maintain the craftsmanship of the original builders.

Beautiful. Vanira nodded thoughtfully to herself. Tonight she would rest and prepare. But come morning, the King and his family would have rather a nasty shock…

Turning again, she walked the long way back to the Guesthouse. The boys were asleep when she finally reached the room, empty plates all stacked and washed on the table – they were used to doing the chores at home, and it seemed that they had not forgotten their habits. They'd left some for her, but Vanira was too excited now to eat. They were finally here, in Gondor, and the first step of her plan could begin. She had been planning this for a long time; she had always known that she wanted to rise above her station in life and aim for greater things. Why settle down as an ordinary village healer when with her skills and brains, she could become Queen of the reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor?

And all it would take, was one little boy… and his mother's diamond pendant.

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	3. Chapter 2: Disruption Begins

**Chapter 2**

They were up before dawn, and Vanira insisted on leaving immediately after breakfast. She was definitely excited about something; there was a bounce in her confident stride and a serene smile on her face that scared Tavi far more than an outright evil grin would have. Something was up, he knew it. That morning, she'd almost been nice to them, and that in itself was enough to set off warning bells in his head. She'd bought them both new clothes, which had upset Iori because she'd wanted to burn their old ragged ones – Kitta had made those for them, and the younger boy couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of them, at least, not until they had really been ripped and torn past all usefulness. But Vanira had insisted, and she'd said they couldn't present themselves to the King in the rags they were wearing. Tavi knew Iori had secretly kept his old clothes in his bag though, and now the smaller boy was limping along doggedly in the new leather shoes that Vanira had bought along with the clothes. That sprain had been with him ever since they'd began their journey, Vanira had refused to rest or to wait for it to heal, which was why it was still sprained even after so long. Kitta would have had something to say about that if she had been here, but then she wasn't here…

She'd died in the spring of this very year, and Vanira had taken over her work as assistant to their healer-leader, Inga, and barely a few weeks after that, Inga had also passed on. Vanira had then, in keeping with the tradition of their village, taken over as leader. And after that, nothing had been the same. She'd changed things, done things, things that made Tavi shiver just thinking about them. Black things, dark things; things that should have died along with the Shadow in the East years ago. And then she'd up and decided out of the blue that she wanted to travel to Gondor, a place very far away (and they hadn't even known where Gondor was back then), and said Iori would be going with her. Tavi had insisted on coming along, because the last thing he would do was to trust her with the safety and well-being of his best friend. Vanira hadn't wanted him to, and then…

"Tavi?"

Tavi's head jerked towards Iori, who was pale and sweating, struggling to keep going. The younger boy's foot looked swollen now – probably due to the tightness of the new leather.

He glanced at Vanira, but she was far ahead of them now. It was doubtful she would stop, anyway, even for this.

"Come on, Ior," he said, voice gentle, slinging his arm under and around the other boy and supporting him. "We'll keep going together."

Iori mumbled an apology, but Tavi would have none of it. He was worried though. Physically, Iori had never been very strong… Tavi sighed. He just hoped the palace wasn't too far away…

"Why are we going to the palace anyway, Tavi?" Iori wanted to know, his green-brown gaze flickering to Tavi. "Why do we have to see the King?"

"I don't know," Tavi sighed. He glared after Vanira. "She's up to something, Ior, but I don't know what… Be ready for anything, though, because it can't be good…"

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A few hours later found the healer woman fuming to herself as she slowed their pace for the boys. That _boy… _Vanira raged silently as they finally reached the sixth level after what seemed like an age. Her good spirits from the morning were completely gone, doused by the boy's weakness. His dratted foot… she glared over her shoulder at the two boys, who were helping each other along behind her. It had taken them ages to get from the lower levels to here, but here they were at last. They'd started out shortly after dawn. It was now nearing evening.

And it was all Iori's fault.

Control. She breathed deeply, and released again, imagining all her anger and dark thoughts evaporating along with it. Control. She had to stay calm when she met with the King. In, out, deep breaths…

"Halt! Who goes there? Identify yourselves!" A guard stopped her from ascending the final staircase that would take her to the top level, to the Citadel where the King resided. Vanira considered slapping him, but knew that venting her frustrations on this fool wouldn't get her up there any faster. Forcing herself to take yet another deep breath – which wasn't as calming as people said it was – she dragged a smile onto her face through sheer force of will.

"I'm here to see King Elessar," she said without preamble. "As to who I am and what my mission is here – I will tell that only to the King himself."

He eyed her suspiciously, looking her over. "Why should I allow you in to see the King?" he demanded. "Others also demand his time. What makes you so special that I should make an exception for you and not the rest?"

Tired of all this, Vanira narrowed her icy gaze. Who was this peasant that dared to deny her passage? Her hand flew to a pendant around her throat, and she began to murmur something beneath her breath, her eyes piercing through to his brown pools. Dripping honey into her tone, she asked again: "May I go in?"

The guard hesitated, and she narrowed her gaze further. "I'm unarmed," she went on. "I have no weapons, and only two children as companions. Please?"

"Uh…" The man blinked, looking slightly confused, as though he did not remember what he was doing here. "Uh, yeah. You can go through, I guess."

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she purred, releasing the Stone but keeping her hypnotic gaze locked on the man's, just in case. A minor enchantment spell was not beyond her powers, but this guard had more intelligence than most. Better not take chances. The boys appeared at last, stumbling up behind her, and she motioned towards the staircase. "Hurry up," she gritted, and they quickened their steps as fast as Iori could go.

From there, it was easy to reach the entrance to the hall. The guards above assumed that since the guard below had granted them permission to enter, that meant that she must have a truly important mission with the King and let them in without so much as a second glance – though one did seem a little concerned about Iori, but he did not ask after him and for that Vanira was glad. Maybe her luck was finally changing.

She'd definitely need all the luck she could get for what would come next. Heart pounding, she allowed herself to hope as she took her first step into the hall of the King, located in the Tower of Ecthelion. Before the King had returned, this place had been presided over by the Steward and his family, but now the King's standard flew high at the top of the tower. Vanira eyed it critically; it was a black banner with a tree and seven stars flying high. Perhaps later, she would make her own standard, when she became Queen. Soon. She smiled to herself, a secret smile filled with malice and danger. Very, very soon…

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"Sire!"

A very agitated nursemaid burst into the room, panting hard and gazing helplessly at Aragorn and Arwen, who were both seated at Aragorn's writing table in his royal study, enjoying idle chitchat while Aragorn tried to finish up some paperwork that had been slowly piling up on his table. Arwen turned gracefully, raising a smile of indulgent resignation to the woman.

"Yes, Glastirna? What has the young Prince done this time?"

"He…he…" Glastirna sputtered, cheeks flaming pink, seemingly unable to express the horror of Eldarion's latest exploit. The nurse had a tendency to exaggerate, and though Aragorn and Arwen never said anything - for they were fond of the older woman, and she did make an excellent nursemaid for their children – but they tended to take her tales and complaints with a pinch of salt most of the time. Of course, serious was serious, and when necessary, disciplinary actions were carried out – usually a treat was taken away, or a minor talk was given – but usually the truth was far less severe than the tales of what latest mischief their offspring had gotten into.

"He?" prompted Aragorn gently, looking up from his work. Unable to hold it in any longer, Glastirna expelled her breath in a rush and exclaimed:

"He jumped out of the bathtub and ran away without his clothes on, sire! And now I can't find him!"

"Oh, dear." Arwen turned a half-worried, half-amused look towards Aragorn. "Estel, I'm positive that he gets these…instincts…from you."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, but nodded politely. "I'm sure he does," he added, in an agreeable tone that said he believed quite the opposite. "But I believe there was one story of a naked she-elfling who did this very same thing in the halls of Imladris a long time ago? If I'm not mistaken, Lord Elrond said that he was in the middle of a very important meeting with some other Elven lords when she burst into his study and jumped into his arms, and said -"

"Estel," interrupted his wife sweetly, with a look in her eyes that promised him a bed on the couch for the next few nights if he dared continue in that vein, "Why don't you go and find your son?"

Assuming a near-apologetic expression that was very much superficial, Aragorn grinned and nodded. "A sound idea, my love. I believe that I shall."

Dodging the writing feather-quill that his wife hurled playfully in his direction, he patted the still-excited Glastirna reassuringly on the shoulder and left the room to find his wayward progeny. Well, his tracking skills hadn't dulled yet. How hard could it be for him to find one soaking wet, naked six-year-old?

A quick check revealed that Eldarion had, as Aragorn suspected, taken refuge in his favorite hiding place beneath his _Ada_ and _Naneth's_ bed. It took some coaxing and the promise of milk and cookies for supper, but he managed to get the little monkey out from under the bed and back into the bathroom, where Arwen waited to finish his bath. Glastirna had gone to lay out clothes for the little runaway in the adjoining bedroom, and Arwen now set to work to cleanse the dust from her giggling son, who was quite compliant now that he had tired himself out a little.

"Elbrían can't do this for sure, can she, _Naneth_?" he asked Arwen eagerly, plunging his head beneath the water and blowing bubbles with a vengeance. Lately he'd been having some sibling rivalry issues with his sister, jealous of the two-year-old who was usurping his parents' attention from him. They'd tried reinforcing that they still loved him by pointing out that as the older brother, there were things he could do that his younger sister couldn't… only now it had backfired somewhat, as he had become slightly obsessed with finding out what all these things were that he as a "big boy" could do, that Elbrían had yet to learn. Today it was blowing bubbles underwater, and Arwen had to admit that Elbrían hadn't figured that trick out yet. Pouring water over her son's head as he emerged, she nodded and dutifully agreed with him.

"Yes, Elbrían is a little too young to try that, Eldarion," she said, and her son beamed all over his chubby face with a smile so like Estel's that Arwen had to smile back. Lifting him from the tub, water dripping in rivulets from his body to hers, she set him on the ground and wrapped him with a fluffy towel before the cool evening breeze could get to him.

"_Ada_ will dry you and get you changed," she said, and Aragorn scooped his son up, blowing raspberries into the little throat, an action that soon had Eldarion twisting and giggling in his father's arms.

Just then, there was a knock on the bathroom door, and a guard waited for Arwen to open it before he politely informed them that the King's presence was required in the hall. "There's a woman there, and she says that she's here on an urgent matter that she will disclose to no one but the King and Queen," he said apologetically. "I do apologize for interrupting your time with your family, my Lord, but she was very insistent."

Eldarion knew the drill, though he looked quite disappointed as Glastirna appeared to receive him from his father's arms. "Will you come and tuck me in later, _Ada_?" asked the young Prince earnestly.

"I may not have the time," Aragorn told him gently, wondering what matter could be urgent enough that he needed to be torn away from his family at this time. "But you know that I will look in on both you and Elbrían before I go to bed."

"Yes, _Ada_," sighed his son, but he wore a smile of acceptance – he knew that his _Ada_ was the King, and sometimes that meant missing out on things that he wanted to do… such as tucking his children into bed at night. Arwen kissed her son's forehead, proud of such maturity from a six-year-old.

"I'll go with _Ada_," she told Eldarion. "He may need me… but Glastirna will put you to bed and read you your story after you've eaten your dinner, little love."

"All right." The little boy yawned. "G'night _Ada_, night, _Naneth_. _Le melon_."

"_Le melon, tithen pen," _Arwen answered, rubbing her son's back tenderly. Aragorn watched with fondness as his wife whispered to his son the prayer that she murmured to him and Elbrían each night before each child slept: "_Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín._" It wasn't necessary, and Arwen could have gone without saying it – but Eldarion and his sister had both come to expect it, or else they would not sleep, as though something in their subconscious would not allow rest to find them until one of their parents had whispered the phrase to them. They would undoubtedly grow out of it, but for now it was no hardship for them to say that each night before the children went to bed. Placing his arm around his wife's shoulder, he led her from the room, the guard behind them a few paces as they walked from the King's house and exited into the courtyard of the Citadel. From there, the white tower of Ecthelion was not too far away, directly to the east of where they lived.

Walking together in comfortable silence, it was Arwen who first broke it, pulling away from Aragorn to give a soft exclamation of surprise. "Estel, _tiro_!"

The King turned his head, silver gaze following hers to where two boys were seated forlornly on the steps of the main entrance, looking around with tired curiosity at the land around them. One was smaller than the other, with brown hair and sad brown-green eyes, while the bigger of the two had a sturdier build, dark brown hair and gray eyes. Neither looked to be older than ten summers old, and the smaller of the two nursed a swollen ankle. A pair of new leather shoes sat on the steps beside him, and he was tentatively massaging the area above the swelling with his hand, wincing every now and again when he pressed down on the wrong spot.

And beside them, with the other guard, standing impatiently with arms folded over her chest, was a woman. Dressed formally in a new gown of one of the latest styles, her cold silver gaze slid up and met with the King's. And slowly, she smiled.

"Your Majesty," she greeted coolly, and Aragorn nodded, moving over to greet her. Something within him warned him to beware this woman the way he would a poisonous serpent, but first he did have to hear what she had to say.

"This is the woman, sire," said the guard who had brought them here.

"Thank you, Adalthain," Aragorn said quietly, and was glad of Arwen's presence by his side. He was aware of the calculating, criticizing glance the woman was giving him, seeming to be sizing him up in silence before she looked at him, and bowed with a sinuous smile that seemed to be slightly mocking.

"My lord," she said in mildly accented Common, "My name is Vanira Silkenwhisper, of a far away village named Foulkes Rath. I come here today on behalf of my deceased sister, whom I believe you once knew."

The bigger of the two boys jerked slightly behind her, silver gaze turning sharp as he studied her intently from her back. Vanira, however, went on:

"I come here today, sire, to claim from you something that rightfully belongs to my sister…or rather, to her son. I understand that your son Eldarion is the heir to the throne of Gondor. Well, today I come to demand that throne for my nephew, my sister's son."

Arwen stiffened beside him, and Aragorn began evenly, "My lady, you cannot simply -"

"Oh, but I do not say this simply, my lord," she said, and now there was a slight ring of triumph in her tone. Gesturing to the boys behind her, "The Law of Númenor says that the firstborn of the King must be the one to inherit the throne and Sceptre, and in essence, the rule over the kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor after the present King has passed on. Well, Eldarion is not your true firstborn, my lord Elessar. Iori is." She nodded to the smaller boy, the one with the swollen ankle. "I have brought him all the way here for this very purpose, that his mother's dying wish might be fulfilled. On behalf of my sister, I claim the inheritance of her son, who is also your son: the throne of Gondor. And let no one say that he is not who I say he is, for I can prove it." A smirk graced her face, and with a flourish, she drew from beneath her cloak something that Aragorn recognized at once. Shock filled his body, and he all but snatched it from her hand.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest. "Who gave it to you?"

"My sister gave it to me on her deathbed," she smiled, eyes lit with satisfaction. "I'm glad you recognize it, your Majesty…for is it not the diamond pendant that you gave to my sister about a decade or so ago after leaving our village?"

Aragorn swallowed, memory rushing through him, staring at the piece of jewellery in his hands in helpless silence. Shaped like a small star, it twinkled merrily at him in the fading light, the diamond reflecting the sunlight the way it had when it had first been given to him, all those years ago… Turning it, his heart fell as he saw the miniscule inscription, in the Elvish script: "For Estel Elrondion, on his sixteenth birthday."

He looked up, into Vanira's waiting eyes, eyes that seemed to glow with a certain ambition and eagerness. Turning to Arwen, he saw a mixture of emotions that he could not name, and the guards looked stunned. The two boys looked just as shell-shocked, especially the one the woman had named Iori and claimed was Aragorn's son with -

No, he had not forgotten her name. He should have, had tried to, but it was one he knew well, even now.

_Kitta Dreamshadow._

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**Translations: **

_**Le melon –**_ I love you.

_**Tithen pen**_ – Little one

_**Ná Elbereth veria le, ná elenath dín síla erin rád o chuil lín –**_ May Elbereth protect you, may stars shine on the path of your life.

_**Tiro**_ – Look!

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	4. Chapter 3: What The Shadow Dragged In

**Chapter 3**

The faded light of the evening began to turn to the gloomy grays of night as Aragorn ushered the woman and the boys into the tower, that they might have more of a semblance of privacy for the discussion that had to come next. The guards waited loyally by the door, saying nothing, their expressions impassive, and Aragorn knew they would believe and say nothing about this until he had told them what was true and what wasn't. Adalthain and Eregbor were both good men, and loyal to their King and their city, and the spreading of gossip and malicious rumors wasn't something they did without good cause. Aragorn nodded to both of them, and turned back to the woman. Arwen was silent, and when he looked at her he realized she wasn't sure what to believe. His heart sank, and he resolved to clear this up with her as soon as he could.

Gripping the pendant tightly in his hand, he turned to Vanira and said carefully, "My lady, it is true that this pendant was once mine, and around twelve years ago I stayed in a village by the name of Foulkes Rath with a woman named -"

"No!" he was cut off by the frantic cries of the two boys, whose heads had jerked up quickly.

"Don't say her name, you can't!" exclaimed the one called Iori. He was pale and trembling, but he didn't seem to realize that he had just cut off the King of Gondor mid-sentence… no, something else had terrified him far more than the consequences of disrespecting the King, and only Vanira seemed to realize what it was. She turned a scowl on both boys, along with a hiss of: "Silence! Don't interrupt the King!" Turning back to Aragorn, she explained swiftly, "It's not you, sire. His mother has not yet been dead a year, you see, and it is the custom of our people not to speak the name of those who have died until five years have passed since the date of their death."

"If you say her name, she won't find her way to the First Tree," Iori said, almost fearfully, though whether he feared that or Vanira more was anyone's guess. Cowering slightly away from her, he finished in a near-whisper, "Cause if anyone says her name, she'll want to stay here. She's got to go back to the First Tree, or her spirit will be stuck here for eternity."

Vanira's eyes narrowed. "Nonsense, Iori. That's a superstition of the villagers', but it's not true. Tavi, tell him to be quiet. I don't want to hear him being rude any more. One more word out of him, and he'll regret it."

It was at that moment that Aragorn knew he severely disliked and distrusted this woman. From where he was, he could clearly see the fear in the eyes of both boys, but especially in the one named Iori. The smaller boy swallowed hard, and ducked his gaze with a gulp, but Tavi's eyes narrowed with what seemed to be helpless anger at Vanira.

She brought a boy here, claiming he was the King's son, and then treated him like dirt under her shoe? Did she not see how contradictory her actions were? If not for the pendant, he would certainly refuse to believe her. No sane person treated one they believed to be the son of a King in such a manner, surely, and from the fear in the eyes of both boys it was clear this had been going on for quite some time now.

"My sister's name was Kitta Dreamshadow, your Majesty," said Vanira, matter-of-factly, as if she was getting tired of playing a game. Iori let out a choked moan, and the boy Tavi murmured something to him, rubbing his friend's shoulders and back in comforting circles. Aragorn could feel Arwen's gaze moving to the boys, but a moment later it darted back to him as he nodded reluctantly. Vanira had just confirmed his worst fears.

So his union with Kitta, his one night of weakness, had produced a son. But no, he needed one final bit of proof…

"If that is true," he said, slowly, unable to look at his wife even from the corner of his eyes, "then you must know the last thing I said to her?"

Vanira grinned slyly. "A test, sire? But of course. You told her two words in what I assume is some form of Elvish: '_Hebo estel'._ I don't have any idea what that means, but you also told her that you could not give her what she sought, and that you were sorry… are you satisfied, my lord? Kitta bore your son some nine months after that, and now I have brought him here to claim his birthright. You see, I have been doing my research, and I know the laws of Númenor by which this entire kingdom is built. This throne is Iori's by order of birth. And if you honestly need more proof…Iori. Tavi. Did this or did this not belong to Kitta? Iori, was she not your mother?"

There was no threat whatsoever in her expression, but Aragorn couldn't help but think that Tavi at least would not be cowed enough to lie. The boy looked almost defiant, but finally he nodded and admitted: "She's worn that pendant for as long as I've known her."

Beside him, a tearful Iori nodded as well, saying shakily, "She was my mother, and I loved her, and…" He broke down, unable to continue. His muddy green gaze – and now Aragorn recalled that Kitta had had green eyes too – kept darting towards the sky outside, as seen through one of the hall's long windows. Swallowing and steeling himself, he choked out, "I hope she finds her way to the First Tree."

Then, turning to Vanira with a haunted look of pure terror and accusation: "How could you, Vanira?" And the grieving boy turned and fled from the hall.

Tavi muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a word that someone his age should not know. He started after Iori, but stopped again as Arwen moved forward.

"_Meleth nín? Mas thelich baded?" _At first, Aragorn thought she meant to go after the boy, but that idea was soon quelled by the expression on her face as she burst past the guards without answering him, and disappeared into the night, much as Iori had. Tavi, who'd been caught in mid-step, now finished his quick exit, going after his friend with determined strides.

And Vanira, looking faintly amused, gave Aragorn a smirk. "Oh dear," was all she said, and she seemed to enjoy the idea that she had caused so much upset in his court in such a short span of time.

With a sigh, his head all one big confused tangle of emotion and feelings, Aragorn summoned his guards to him, and they came at once.

"Eregbor, please take Lady Silkenwhisper to a room for the night," he requested tiredly. "Adalthain…" he hesitated a moment, before finishing, "Please find the two boys and do the same for them. I must find the Queen. And when you are done with that, please find Prince Imrahil and Lord Faramir and tell them to come to my study tonight. I must speak to them both about this new…incident."

The two fine examples of good and excellent guardsmen nodded, moving swiftly to obey their King without question. A faintly surprised Vanira was led off firmly in one direction, Eregbor apparently having picked up on his King's dislike of the woman, for he held her with the bare minimum of gentleness and seemed suddenly deaf to the lady's cross complaints. Adalthain went the other way, and Aragorn followed with a sigh and a sense of impending urgency. Arwen. He didn't know what she had gleaned from that conversation with Vanira, and he needed to talk to her, clear things up properly, explain himself. At the very least, he needed to apologize, but he could do none of these things until he had found her. Increasing his pace, he began pounding towards where he knew she had to be: in their private rooms, one of the few places here where she could find sanctuary.

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His foot throbbed as he limped over the thin covering of snow. A light snowfall had started, feathery flakes floating down from the sky to land on and around him. Tears blurred his vision, and within his mind was a memory of the only mother he had ever known.

Kitta. She had been mother to both him and Tavi, though only one of them had been a son of her flesh. The other had been adopted, taken in out of the kindness of her heart, which had definitely had enough love in it for two young boys. She'd loved them both so much that even when the villagers asked her which of them had been adopted, she'd laughed and said she'd forgotten – Iori had never forgotten that. It meant that she didn't care about blood – she loved them from her heart, and it didn't matter to her that one of them was a fosterling.

Of course, he had no doubt that she knew which of them was the son she had given birth to and which was taken in after the death of her best friend and her husband – mothers didn't _forget_ things like that – but none of the villagers had pressed her anyway, and she'd never saw the need to broadcast which of them was which. Tavi and he were always _her_ sons, and that was all there was to it.

Iori stopped walking. His leg throbbed anyway, and he knew Tavi would have come after him by now. He looked hopelessly at the sky. Even here, he could see the beginning of the First Tree starting to appear, glowing branches of color spreading out through the night sky in waves of star-fire. Was Kitta already there? If she was, then he needn't worry any more about Vanira saying her name aloud. But the elders said it could take a long time for a loved one's soul to make the journey into the safety of its boughs. What if she'd heard Vanira? What if she came back? Maybe she would think that Iori and Tavi needed her… and Iori felt like he did need her. But no, that would be selfish. Kitta didn't belong here any longer – she should go to the First Tree.

He heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him, and didn't have to turn to know that Tavi had found him.

"We can take care of ourselves," he whispered, not to Tavi, but in the direction of the Tree in the sky. "We'll be okay. Please, don't come back. We don't need you any more. Go back. Stay away."

He felt Tavi's hand on his shoulder, a comforting weight on his skinny frame.

"She won't come back, Ior," the other boy said quietly. "I'm sure she won't."

Iori choked up a little. He looked at Tavi helplessly. "How can we be sure?"

"I'm sure." Tavi spoke with confidence. "I feel it in my heart."

The first touch of hope began in his heart. The other boy wouldn't say such a thing if it wasn't true. Tavi never lied. "You do?"

Tavi nodded. "She's all right, Ior. I'm sure of it."

And if Tavi said it was so, then it must be so. Iori nodded and swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. He continued to watch the First Tree. He wouldn't see Kitta if she was there, but it made him feel a little better to imagine she was. He refused to think about the rest of what had happened that day – his mind was, in its own way, still processing everything slowly, helping him to cope with all that Vanira had set into motion, all she had done and said. Tavi stayed with him, and so Iori felt no fear of the night.

And that was where Adalthain found them both a few minutes later, one boy watching the sky with an expression of peace on his tear-stained face, and the other watching his friend with affectionate devotion. The guard shook his head, amused and touched at the same time.

"Come on, lads," he said kindly. "The King has asked me to bring you both to a room for the night." He held out a hand, not really expecting anything, but after a moment or so the bigger of the two took it, and his friend followed suit with Adalthain's other hand. There was trust in both grips, and Adalthain couldn't help but think that, son of the King or not, there was something truly magical about earning the unguarded trust of a child.

These two didn't seem to realize how much would change in Gondor, if what that ice-woman said was true. Adalthain looked at the one called Iori, who was starting to shiver in the cool night breeze. The snow was falling heavier, and even though his clothes were new, he had no coat or wrap. The other one, Tavi, struggled along, his proud posture never wavering, though his skin was covered with goose pimples and turning pale and blue. The guard nodded thoughtfully to himself. "I don't suppose you two like warm milk and creamy biscuits?"

And the boys smiled. "Oh," said Iori, happily, giving Adalthain's hand a grateful squeeze.

"I think we can suffer through some of those," agreed Tavi, and Adalthain chuckled as he brought them into the warmth of the King's house, knowing that morning would bring what it would bring. But for now, these two were cold and tired and hungry, and he guessed that they had been through a lot. They didn't need the worry and stress, and he wouldn't give it to them. No, he would feed them, and settle them in, and then he would follow the rest of his King's instructions and go summon Prince Imrahil and the visiting Lord Faramir to King Elessar's study.

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**Translations:**

_**Meleth nín? Mas thelich baded?**_ – My love? Where do you intend to go?

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**Edited July 21st 2008 -** Moved the notes here to the first page.

Do drop a review!

Kudos,

RK9.


	5. Chapter 4: Counsel for Council

**Disclaimer:** See first chapter. No, only Tavi and Iori are mine, and Vanira, and Adalthain, Eregbor and Glastirna. And other non-canon characters. The rest belong to Tolkien.

**Author's notes:** Yup, here's chapter 4.

Thanks to Sofia Avyalna and Lasen for reviewing!

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**Chapter 4**

It was a tired-looking monarch indeed that Imrahil and Faramir found in his study, when finally they were able to answer the King's summons. The King did not look well, his expression pale and haggard. He looked up as they came in, two of his most trusted friends and advisors, and Aragorn had never been so glad to have the both of them here visiting during this time. It was such good timing that he could have sworn they'd preplanned it somehow – which of course was impossible, but still, he was grateful.

"Sire!" Imrahil, the first to enter, gasped slightly at the sight of him. The Prince of Dol Amroth was a tall man whose appearance was that of a strong yet quickly-aging soldier. Silver had touched his hair to the roots by now, for he was old – yet he insisted that he could still serve, and so Aragorn allowed him to stay on his council as one of his advisors…for now. Old age might be rapidly sapping his energy, but not his wisdom, which was why Aragorn had called him here tonight. Imrahil spent most of his time in his home nowadays, only traveling to the White City for Council meetings or to answer the summons of the King, which made it lucky that he had chosen to visit Gondor with Faramir at this time, for Aragorn had more or less decided that he wanted to let the older man rest with his family and not to call him out to Council quite so often – but to have his counsel now would be a tremendous comfort. The older man looked concerned, and Aragorn sought to alleviate his worries by pasting a smile on his face. Imrahil, though, was far from fooled.

"My lord Aragorn," Faramir said worriedly to his beloved King and friend, "What has happened? Adalthain would tell us nothing of why you sent for us."

Aragorn nodded. "It's a long story, Faramir, Imrahil. Perhaps you had both better take a seat…"

"You look terrible, sire," the Steward told him frankly, even as he and Imrahil moved to collect seats for themselves to sit facing Aragorn. His friendship with the former Ranger had earned him the leave to speak so forwardly with the King, but he did not speak out often out of respect for his friend, and when he did do so, it was always out of concern for his friend's welfare. Aragorn smiled humorlessly in response, though he was grateful that Faramir cared.

"Arwen refuses to speak to me," he stated baldly, half to himself; still barely able to comprehend despite the fact that he did understand all too well. "She has bolted herself in our room, and will not come out." He saw the shock and confusion on his friends' faces and forced himself to stop. "No, friends, I'm sorry. I got ahead of myself there. Let me explain…"

The long new wick in the oil lamp had burned out and needed to be replaced by the time Aragorn had finished his story. He told Imrahil and Faramir of Vanira's arrival with the boys, of Arwen's reaction, and confessed his fears for the problems that were to come because of this.

"I fear for Eldarion, and his position as heir to the throne," he sighed at the end, not noticing that the room had darkened and the only light now came from the fire in the fireplace. Discreetly, Imrahil got up to light a new lamp, while Faramir poured out a mug of water from a pitcher nearby for his King. Aragorn thanked him, but did not drink, merely setting the mug aside and staring straight through it as though it wasn't there.

"This Vanira woman is right, however, when she speaks of the laws here," Imrahil said thoughtfully. "The Law of Númenor which she mentioned has been followed for centuries, and is not as easily changed as it was back then. The King who changed it, Tar-Aldarion, sought to protect his daughter's position as Ruling Queen, and the position of any of her daughters after her, by making a second law: that the law he had changed might not be changed again, unless in dire need. No one is certain of the conditions he meant by 'dire need', and so it will be a matter to be discussed…"

"…in Council," Aragorn completed his friend's sentence, nodding tiredly. "I thought so." His gaze slid towards the walls, through which lay his bedchambers, and his Queen, and it was obvious where his worries now lay. Faramir exchanged glances with Imrahil, and they both sought to distract their King, subtly directing his attention back to the matter at hand.

"It seems to me, sire, that the only thing to do would be to hold Council tomorrow morning, with all the lords of court, and discuss this thoroughly," said Faramir quietly. "I know how much we all 'love' Council, Aragorn, but this matter is too deep for us to solve on our own without one. Otherwise, people will talk. They will say it is unfair that we decided without their counsel. They will complain, no matter what decision we come to, and say we were biased. They might even stir up trouble among the people, and that we cannot afford for that to happen, not so early in your rule, and it will solve nothing – not for you, not for Eldarion, and not for this boy who is supposedly your son."

Imrahil nodded to the Steward, and Aragorn dragged his gaze from the walls with a sigh. He didn't look tired now, with the light from the relit lamps flickering on his face - just sad, but they could tell he was pretty exhausted nonetheless. It would be different if he had Arwen by his side – but now he didn't know how the Queen was reacting, or what she thought he had done… and it was tearing him up inside. There were few in the palace, in Gondor even, who didn't know how much Aragorn loved his Queen, and now… Arwen's refusal to talk to him was making him miserable. He wanted to explain himself, to apologize – he had seen the hurt expression on her face earlier and wanted to erase it, wanted to heal her pain and make it up to her. He longed to see her, to hold her in his arms…but she wouldn't even answer when he called to her.

"The boys and the woman – where are they now?" Imrahil asked cautiously. "They should be present at Council tomorrow, since this involves them all."

"Who was the second boy, anyway?" Faramir wondered aloud. "You said that one was your son, so who was the other child and why bring him?"

That got Aragorn's attention. In his worry over wanting to clear the air with Arwen, he had - either consciously or unconsciously - not given even a thought to the two boys. Vanira yes, because he deemed her a threat, but not the boys. Glancing at Faramir with an expression of mild surprise, he confessed: "I did not think to ask. But now that you mention it, it does seem rather strange… Perhaps he is her son?" Remembering how Tavi had been looking at Vanira, he had to admit that it seemed unlikely… "I am not sure."

"No matter – we'll find out tomorrow," said Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth got to his feet. "We will inform those involved, your Majesty, and begin tomorrow at the usual time. Sire, I do hope you won't forget to get some rest."

"Yes, sire, I second that," Faramir agreed firmly. "We will see you in the morning."

Aragorn nodded, forcing up another smile, but once the other two men had bowed and taken their leave, it faded. Getting to his feet, he left his study, going to the door of his bedroom – which was still bolted from the inside. He knocked tentatively, called Arwen's name – but only silence answered. A great sigh left him, and he turned to walk away.

It would be difficult, but he would hold on to hope anyway. Tomorrow…maybe with time, she would forgive him? Maybe she just needed to calm down, to think things through… The King bowed his head, but even with those hopeful thoughts in his heart he found it hard to find any peace that night.

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Morning found the city blanketed with a fresh covering of snow. So, it was to be a white Yule for the first time since a King had returned to the throne of Gondor. Faramir managed to smile, looking through the windows at the soft whiteness that reflected the light glow of the morning sun. It was a beautiful day, a morning of hope and light, and it hardly seemed to be the right kind of day to hold Council about such a serious matter. He thought of his young son Elboron, and his beloved wife Éowyn at home in Ithilien. If the morning was equally fine over there, surely his son would be clamoring to be outside as soon as his mother would allow it, to play in the snow and romp in the crisp air. Had Faramir been there, he wouldn't have hesitated to join them.

But he wasn't home. He was here, and a good thing too, for his King needed him right now. His thoughts reluctantly leaving the coziness of home and family, Faramir followed the guard Adalthain to the room where the two boys had been put up for the night.

"Eregbor said he was rather tempted to put the woman in the dungeons," Adalthain was saying – he'd been talking the whole time while Faramir's thoughts were at home in Ithilien, "But in the end he put her in a separate wing, my lord Steward. I hope we didn't do anything wrong, but we didn't feel it was…" he hesitated, searching for the right word. "Well, that it was _wise_, to put her with the boys. They seem scared enough of her, though the bigger one certainly has plenty of backbone when it comes to his friend."

Faramir had only asked the man if the boys and the woman had been well taken care of. The Steward smiled to himself in amusement – Adalthain seemed to have been taken with the boys rather fast, considering that he'd only met them an evening before, and now he seemed more than eager to tell him about them.

"Have they been told of the Council, Adalthain?" he asked seriously, cutting gently into the rapid flow of conversation, and the guard nodded.

"I told them this morning when they woke up, as you told me to, my lord," he answered, drawing himself up and looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry to go on about them, but… they just, they seem like very good boys, my lord, and they do remind me of my own children at home. My son is almost their age, and my little girl is as precocious as Iori…"

"I understand," Faramir said, and as a father himself, he felt he did see where Adalthain was coming from.

They had reached the sturdy door, and now Adalthain remembered himself and moved to open it, schooling his expression into a properly formal one, one more appropriate for passing between a soldier and his lord. Faramir missed the guard's friendly chatter almost immediately. He and Adalthain had fought together at Osgiliath – the guard had been spared from Faramir's suicidal mission there later only because of the injuries he'd sustained in the first skirmish – and they had both survived the final battle down by the Black Gates. He was more than just a soldier: he was a _friend_… but he was also right. Sometimes propriety had to take precedence, and Faramir supposed this was one of those times…

Stepping into the room – a room he knew well, for once it had been the room where his cousins usually stayed when they came to visit Minas Tirith – he took in the sight of the two boys sitting quietly on their single beds, each with their bags all packed and ready on the mattresses beside them. They both looked up as he entered, and he met two different gazes – one gray and searching, that measured him and his mettle from head to toe, and the other a sad brown-green. Yet it didn't seem to be a sadness born of true emotions, but merely a normal state of being for the young boy.

Behind him, Adalthain pointed each boy out and introduced them. "That's Tavi, sir," he said, pointing to the gray-eyed boy. "And his friend is Iori. Boys, this is the Lord Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien."

They looked at him quietly, and then Tavi asked: "Are we supposed to bow or something?" He looked rather doubtfully at Faramir, who smiled and chuckled as he realized that the question was a sincere one. The boy wasn't trying to be rude or insulting; he genuinely wanted to know if he was committing a breach of conduct somehow by staying seated.

"No, no bows necessary, we're in quite an informal situation here," he assured the boy, who nodded.

"Is Vanira here?" Iori didn't quite look up as he spoke, his fingers clenching nervously in the neatly folded covers of his bed.

"No," Adalthain answered this one. "But Lord Faramir told me she'll be at Council later with you two and the rest of the rulers."

Iori nodded, seeming to become smaller at the very thought of seeing the woman again. Tavi nudged him on the leg with his foot, and only then did the boy reluctantly look up. Faramir could have become lost in the muddy green depths of his eyes, which were certainly more expressive than Tavi's, and filled with a mix of emotions that told the Steward without words just how the boy truly felt about being here, now, so far from home and family, and from what Aragorn had said the night before, still immersed in grief over the death of his mother. The boy's gaze flickered away, and he slid slowly off the bed. Reminded that they did indeed have to go, Faramir offered a hand, but Tavi declined it politely, sliding off his bed and moving to help Iori, whose ankle was still swollen.

"We won't be coming back to this room, will we?" he asked, starting to pick up both their packs, but Faramir shook his head.

"I think you will be, after Council," he said, silently adding: '_Depending on what decisions are made_…' Glancing around, he noticed suddenly that the room was pristine – the beds had been neatly made, the rugs all carefully in place, the pillows fluffed and blankets folded…. As though they had been preparing to leave already. Unsure what to say, he shook his head in amazement – were these truly two _boys_ here, when boys were supposed to be renowned for their untidiness and lack of discipline?

Realizing that the boys in question were looking expectantly at him, he took a step back and motioned for them to go ahead. "You can leave your things here, Tavi," he said quietly, not unkindly. "Just follow Adalthain – he will show you to the room where we're having Council."

Tavi nodded. "Thank you, my lord," he said, with all the dignity a ten-year-old could muster, and he guided his friend with loyal diligence towards the door.

"He should have that ankle seen to," Faramir said to Adalthain as the boys exited, his tone troubled, and the guard nodded.

"The healer said that rest was the main component for healing it," he answered. "I suppose in Council, he'll have some of that, since Tavi said they've been traveling for some time and haven't had a free moment to stop and rest…"

Then, Faramir, acting solely on instinct born from his kind heart, moved outside. Stopping the boys with a hand on Tavi's shoulder, he scooped Iori up into his arms, and without a word, he bore the startled boy all the way to the room where Aragorn, Imrahil and many other lords of Gondor were waiting to begin. He set the boy in a seat near the end of the long, rectangular table, and Tavi scrambled into another chair nearby without waiting to be told. Faramir smiled and turned to leave, but unexpectedly Iori's thin hand snaked up and earnestly squeezed his arm.

"You _are_ nice," he whispered, "Thank you, Lord Faramir." His green eyes shone, and though they still held that perpetually melancholy expression, Faramir saw the gratitude and happiness in the young gaze and smiled.

"You needed to rest that ankle," he reminded the boy, squeezing the small hand back. "Don't worry about it, young one."

He was starting to see what Adalthain saw in these two. Slipping quietly past the others, he was able to get to his seat just as the woman Vanira was escorted in, and Aragorn began the Council. The King didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep the night before, but he seemed less tired and better prepared for what was to come. Faramir didn't miss the glances he sent his Steward and the two boys, but the Steward covertly pretended not to notice anything and buried his attention in the matter at hand. As two of the Gondorian nobles began pestering Aragorn for information in high-pitched, nasal whines, Faramir knew that Council had officially begun.

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The meeting room, though freshly cleaned by harried maids in preparation for the unplanned Council, was starting to feel distinctly dusty to Aragorn as he sat patiently in his seat and tried to remember his years of training in self-control. He remembered being allowed to sit in meetings with his foster father so long ago, when he'd been a boy, and the main instructions that Lord Elrond had always given him consisted of two main warnings: One, to keep quiet, and two, to keep _still_.

The first had been easy enough to keep, being that he'd usually started feeling bored within minutes of the meeting's beginning and had nothing to say anyway. The second was far harder, and gradually he'd come to start hating those meetings. Then, as he grew older, he'd come to realize that his Elven father had been training him, teaching him how to keep still for long periods of time. It had been Elrond's way of preparing him for becoming King (though he hadn't known that at the time), where meetings like these were held on a regular basis, and he couldn't exactly be fidgeting off his seat every time he felt bored. Those lessons served him well now, for he had even learned how to make himself appear to be listening even when his attention was elsewhere. And someday in the future, he would have to teach these skills to his own son… though right now, it didn't seem likely that it would be Eldarion.

And of course, that had him shifting and brushing his gaze discreetly over where the boys were sitting. Tavi was certainly fidgeting; the bigger boy was just too full of energy to sit still for long. But Iori was fine, quiet and still, almost escaping notice in the huge chair - though perhaps lost in his own thoughts. The brown-green gaze was directed towards the part of the table immediately in front of him, and he was staring not at it, but _through_ it, and that spoke volumes about where his attention truly was at the moment.

Aragorn returned to the discussion at hand, that was going on between Lord Galdren and Lord Ivron, two of the louder debaters of the Gondorian court. At the moment there seemed to be two main sides – one side that said that Vanira and the boys were liars and should be jailed or executed for even trying to usurp the throne (among other ideas that seemed a little too extreme to mention), while the other side believed that because of the pendant and Aragorn's own acknowledgement, Iori was definitely Aragorn's firstborn – and here the main branch of argument split off into a few more sides again as to what course of action should be taken. A large majority was on the side that believed – only Lord Galdren, Lord Isilmaer, and Lord Chambeth seemed to be fiercely against the idea that little Iori could possibly be his son in any way, but the rest had all pretty much accepted it… as Aragorn had.

He had to admit it – the boy had said his mother was Kitta, and the timing was right. Then there was the pendant that Vanira had produced, and the words '_Hebo estel'_ – Elvish for "Have hope", and none in Kitta's village would understand or even know how to speak that phrase, small as it was. He was disinclined to believe Vanira, yes, but Iori and Tavi had no reason to lie. They had the look of honesty on them, and though he knew looks could be deceiving – ten years ago he certainly hadn't looked like the King he now was, now had he? – his instincts told him that the boys, at least, could be trusted. And when it came to gut feelings, he was usually right.

Lord Cabriel of Southern Gondor wanted to change the Law of Númenor and make it so that only _legitimate_ sons of the King could inherit the throne, and he had quite a following, especially among those Lords who had sworn fealty to Eldarion when the boy had been born. These were the ones devoted to their Crown Prince, and who wanted no other ruler. Lord Ivron on the other hand was saying that the laws could not be changed, and should not be. He wanted to give Iori a chance. And finally, the ones remaining weren't sure of anything at all, and were either still thinking things over or waiting for someone else to say something wise that they agreed with, so they could nod and take their leave.

They had broken for lunch a little earlier, but even now this didn't seem anywhere near an end. Ivron had stopped talking, but now another man was standing to speak – one of the city's best speakers. Aragorn fought back a groan, turning it discreetly into a cough. Across the table, he felt Tavi's eyes shoot up to stare at him in surprise, and then a grin spread across the young boy's face and he leaned over to whisper something to Iori, who looked up at him with wondering eyes before grinning as well.

So, the boys had not thought that a King could get bored of Council. Aragorn felt a smile tugging at his mouth, but quickly erased all evidence of it as one of the guards from the door approached him.

"Sire? Your friends have arrived, outside. An Elf and a Dwarf – I believe it is Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, sire."

A thrill of joy shot through him at the familiar names, and Aragorn had to fight the urge to spring out of his seat and go crashing from the room in front of so many members of his court. Nodding to the man, he ordered: "Send them in, thank you,", and was proud of himself for concealing the impatience he felt inside.

He looked up, catching Faramir's eye, and his Steward gave him a tiny nod. Well, that explained why Legolas and Gimli were here! They must have ridden non-stop on old Arod just to get here in time. For the first time since Arwen had bolted herself away from him, Aragorn felt like his old self again – not fully himself maybe, he wouldn't be that until he had spoken to Arwen - but better than he had been feeling, certainly. He mouthed the word "Thanks" to Faramir, and pretended not to notice as Imrahil discreetly moved to a new seat, clearing two spaces beside him for the mismatched pair whom he loved more dearly than brothers.

And though Council still went on around him, Aragorn found that the room had become a little less dusty, as though a fresh wind had swept through and cleared the air, and he felt in him the hope he had once been named after.

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Please let me know what you think. :) I'm trying to make this as realistic as possible, and by the way this is movie-Aragorn, not book-Aragorn...or maybe a combination of both, if I can manage it. Arwen, however, is strictly movie-Arwen.

RK9.


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